


A letter for no one

by Cocaine_on_my_titties



Series: Learning to let go (feat. George) [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, D:, Grief/Mourning, Other, References to Sex, a letter to no one, capital d colon, dealing with grief, happynotfound, it wasnt supposed to be sad until i read it back oops, its not weird i promise, more specifically the sound of it, oh well, please read these guys, story thought it was smut at first, the amount of comments on my last
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:06:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28628493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cocaine_on_my_titties/pseuds/Cocaine_on_my_titties
Summary: George writes a letter about the sounds of the apartment upstairs and burns it to release his pent up emotions.
Series: Learning to let go (feat. George) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2097918
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	A letter for no one

**Author's Note:**

> This could be about any person/character, but I figured I should make this an add on to my other story with sad george. So yeah, I made it a series if you wanna check out the first story-- but you really dont have to to understand the story.

Sex through the ceiling. It pesters what could be my peaceful nights. The bed is the only loud thing in there. I feel not only anger towards the two partaking in such, but sympathy for the one receiving. I can only imagine how she feels, having limp dick game repeatedly pound her so informally.

But, I can’t say I blame them. These new, sleepless hours when the moon hangs high-- they remind me of you and make me wish I had taken so many nights to enjoy it to the fullest with you. I’m sure if I could squeeze in a wink of sleep, you’d not rack my mind every time he racks her bed. With each hit of the bed frame against the wall that reverberates on my ceiling comes you. In the beginning, random thoughts would call your name, then a faint, nostalgic aroma that would tingle through my nostrils.

The sex above made me biased to think of the intimate moments we shared, but then the noises morphed into a dishwasher. It helped me-- it helped me to think of when I’d kiss you on the counter, or when you couldn’t think so I’d dance with you until you felt right; the only noise being the swishing and banging of water against dishes. I found that those thoughts carried me through the unending rabbit-thumping in my walls.

A newfound comfort was all it was for me. At least, that’s what I wanted to believe-- and still want to. My heart now calls out for you, waning and yearning for something so long ago-- so long ago, yet I began to miss it again. The closed wound, forcibly torn open, unbeknownst to me and now flowing and unstopping. I didn’t ask for this, but now I’m forced to deal with it on my own through each new round of the knife splitting and tearing more of me.

What started as a hindrance, turned to a comfort-- but now morphed into something deeper than both. I can’t seem to even close my eyes; pretending I’m asleep. The aching within myself that reaches for you, shreds the last bit of steadiness I have.

Some nights I fear you can hear me calling out to you. That you can feel the way I pull and clamber around memories to feel you again. I miss you. But I know you can’t reciprocate, which is why I’ve written this entire shit-show of a situation down with plans of burning it and letting the ashes fly free through the night. I wish for a freedom such as the ashes-- I wish to not be weighed down by the sound of sex through the ceiling.

**Author's Note:**

> And to think this idea came from a tiktok about a dude upset with his loud roomate...


End file.
